To Toy With a Young Mind
by cloudedleopard51
Summary: Mark's life is endangered by a strange child and an even stranger man. The vengeful man is poised to strike! Ch 5 and 6 up. Comments and constructive criticism appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

To Toy With a Young Mind: Prologue

A dark fog loomed over the Malibu coastline. A deep rumbling in the sky and flashes of light over the Pacific Ocean signaled that a storm was on its way. _Crack! _The soft sound of thunder magnified tenfold as a bright light struck out and touched the surface of the water.

The Pacific Ocean was no longer a friendly, calm body of water. Its dark waves violently toppled over themselves, dragging numerous objects to shore. A small boat far out to sea was being tossed about on the water. Not even the most daring surfer was out in the water trying to catch a big wave. Any tourists had wisely stayed in their dry hotel rooms. The storm had transformed the once bustling Malibu into a desolate, uninviting place.

In Mark Sloan's beach house, not a soul was aware of the impending foul weather. Mark told jokes and chuckled lightheartedly as he ate Thanksgiving dinner with his son, Steve. It was the first time in a long while that they had really spent time together without being embroiled in a frustrating, dark situation. Mark's friends, Jesse and Amanda, joined the Sloans for dinner as they had nowhere else to go to celebrate the day. All four of them needed some time to relax and to forget about their hectic jobs and cases for just a few hours.

Mark jumped as he heard a loud clap of thunder that shook the house. He felt awkward as three pairs of eyes turned to him. "Oh," he laughed, trying to lighten the mood. "I guess even adults are scared of storms sometimes."

Jesse and Amanda shrugged and resumed a pleasant conversation about the hospital. Steve's eyes lingered on Mark a bit longer. Something didn't seem quite right about his father's demeanor. "Are you sure you're alright, Dad?" he asked quietly. "You seem a little distracted."

Not wanting to cause his son any extra stress, Mark waved off the inquiry and his nervousness. He could not, however, shake off the slight apprehension deep inside his stomach. Mark ignored the feeling, writing it off to his dislike of storms. He had always been a little flighty about storms ever since he was a small child.

Throughout the entire meal, something nagged in the back of Mark's mind. At first, he pretended that it wasn't there. Mark, however, found himself unable to accurately process all the words being spoken at the table. It became blatantly obvious to his friends and son that something was bothering him.

Eventually, Mark gave in to the strange feeling in his mind. He got up from the table and went to a closet to retrieve a few flashlights. Jesse and Amanda stared at Mark as he dropped the flashlights onto the dining room table.

Amanda's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What are these for, Mark?" she asked as she picked one up.

"Oh, we don't want to be stuck in the dark if there's a power outage." Mark smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was grateful that nobody noticed.

After awhile, the tightness in his chest dissipated, and he became jovial again. Mark was confident that he could relax; the fear of the storm was pretty much eliminated if they had a reliable source of light. He was sure that he had all the bases covered.

Half a mile away, a tall man in a black raincoat peered at the beach house through a pair of binoculars. The wind picked up speed and blew his messy, dark hair in his face. The man pulled his coat more tightly around him and nudged a figure beside him.

"It is almost time." The man pulled a golden pocket watch from his coat, glanced at the time, and closed it. "Do not disappoint me, Edward."

A small black haired boy stiffened and crisply turned to face the man. "Yes, sir. I will not fail, sir."

"That's a good boy," the man said gruffly, ruffling the child's hair. The gesture was forced, and the man instantly shoved his hand in his pocket after a few seconds.

The boy shifted uncomfortably then lifted his gaze to meet the man's. The man's eyes were as cold as ice, betraying no emotion, and the boy became apprehensive for the first time. "Fa... Father?" the boy asked sheepishly. The man flinched at the title. "_Why_ do you want me to-" He was cut off by a sharp kick in the abdomen. The boy lurched forward but did not fall.

The man's eyes flashed in irritation, and his voice cut through the chilly air like a knife. "That is none of your concern."

The boy clutched his midsection and staggered. It appeared almost as if he were holding himself together. "Yes, yes sir."

In response, the man waved a gloved hand in the direction of Mark Sloan's beach house, as if he were trying to shoo away a fly. "Go.

The boy didn't have to be told twice. He scurried in the direction the man had pointed. The winds became even more fierce; the sky opened up and dropped heavy, stinging droplets of water to the earth. Still, the boy did not slow his pace.

As he ran the boy became weary. His short legs ached as he repeatedly kicked them out in front of him. The rain burned as it made contact with his unprotected face and splashed into his eyes. His breathing came in fast, shallow breaths. He, however, was unable to stop.

The boy could not let his father down for any reason. His father expected absolute perfection, and the boy had to no choice but to comply. He had to reach his destination and quickly. Time was of the essence.

A satisfied smirk was plastered on the man's face as he watched the little boy darting madly through the storm. The man pulled out his pocket watch a second time. A hint of a smile played across his lips. "You're mine, Sloan."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The boy stood at the front door of Mark Sloan's beach house, his hand quavering in the air. He brought his hand close to the door to knock, then changed his mind, then almost knocked again. Adrenaline coursed through his veins. He had to do this right. His father was counting on him. Closing his eyes tightly, the boy pounded on the door with one fist.

The loud, banging sound startled Mark into dropping his fork onto his plate. "Now who could that be," he mused as he began to rise from his seat.

Jesse, however, was quicker. He bolted up and scrambled for the door. "I'll get it!" he called enthusiastically over his shoulder.

Jesse's broad, childish grin was replaced with a frown of confusion when he threw open the door to stare into the frightened eyes of a child. The boy behind the door was wet, dirty, and looked absolutely petrified. Jesse felt a twinge of pity for the child.

Kneeling down to the boy's level, Jesse spoke softly. "Hi there. Is there something I can help you with?"

The boy shied away. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest. Had he gotten the wrong house? After all that planning, he had disappointed his father. The boy was sure that this was the house his father had told him to go to, but there was no old man, no tall, tough guy named Steve.

Mark, fully curious as to who would possibly come to see him during such foul weather, left the dining room. He stopped in the front entryway and stared past Jesse. The drenched child standing in the doorway caught him very off guard, but Mark was always ready and eager to help anyone or anything in need.

Offering the boy his classic, toothy grin, Mark approached him. "Well, hello!" Mark said. "You must be soaked; why don't you come in and get dried off?"

Relief washed over the boy, but he did not smile. He did not like what he was about to do, but he could not question orders. His father knew what was best. Still, this old man seemed nice. The boy wished he could just walk away and leave this Mr. Sloan alone, but that was not an option.

Mark noticed the array of expressions that appeared on the child's face. It made Mark feel awkward, not understanding what the boy was thinking. "What's your name?" he finally asked the wet figure who stood silently.

The boy dipped his head like a scolded dog. "Edward," he mumbled. He took a deep breath and then began bawling. He just hoped that he had practiced enough and that he sounded convincing.

Jesse shot Mark a worried, completely confused glance, and Mark just stood dumbly for a few seconds. Amanda and Steve, hearing someone cry, came running.

Mark began to approach the boy to see what was wrong, but Amanda gently pushed Mark aside. She had more experience with troubled young kids than did Mark, with an adopted boy of her own. She lowered herself to the child's level and, like she so often did with her own children, tried to coax him into telling her what was wrong.

Rubbing his red, puffy eyes, Edward lifted his head and saw a beautiful woman staring at him in concern. His thoughts flashed back to vague memories of his own mother. Even worse than hurting the kind old man would be to hurt such a sweet-looking woman like the one standing in front of him. But he had no choice.

Edward refused to look Amanda in the eye. "I can't find my Daddy," he sobbed. "I'm lost." He felt horrible for breaking the one and only rule his mother had taught him: do not lie. But it was for his father.

Amanda embraced the boy and spoke in a soothing monologue, telling Edward that everything would be alright and that they would find the boy's father. This only caused the boy to stiffen and become even more nervous.

Mark glanced at Steve with pleading eyes. His son returned the look with a stubborn glance of his own but relented within a few moments. "Alright, alright!" He threw his hands in the air and went to grab his rain jacket and shoes. "I'll see if I can find his dad. Where did you last see him? And what's his name?"

The boy's blood turned to ice. He stared dumbly at Steve. "It's... um..." he stuttered, "it's Kyle Smith. We were walking on the beach, and then I... got lost!"

Steve stared at Edward skeptically before finally heading out the door. How could a kid almost forget his own father's name? And why on earth would anyone be taking a stroll along the ocean during such a bad storm? A quick glance to his father told Steve that Mark was thinking the same thing. Steve shrugged and left the house. The boy was probably just too scared to think clearly.

Watching Steve leave, Jesse raced to get his own coat. "I'm going to help Steve search; two heads are better than one!" he told Mark and Amanda, who were busy trying to make Edward feel more comfortable.

The front door to the beach house opened and slammed shut while Steve was still on the driveway. He glanced back and saw Jesse racing over, holding the top of his jacket to shield his head form the rain. "What are you doing out here, Jess?" Steve called, but his voice was nearly drowned out by the sound of the rain.

Jesse caught up with the older man and shrugged. "I thought you could use a hand."

Steve sighed and resumed walking. He put his right hand over his eyes like a visor and scanned the area around him. The trees danced wildly with the wind, the rain hit the ground and splashed up back into the air. Only two people seemed to be outside in the storm: a doctor and a cop, searching for someone who was probably indoors somewhere. "We don't both need to be out here, Jesse."

The younger man grinned. "And let you have all the fun?"

Chuckling, Steve walked toward the ocean to check the beach for anyone. Jesse followed two steps behind. Nothing but blowing sand and wild waves moved. It seemed the search was futile. It was like trying to find a needle in a moving, angry haystack.

The two spent the better part of an hour in a frustrating attempt to find the elusive Kyle Smith. They checked the local gas station and supermarket and walked a full mile each way down Pacific Coast Highway, but they encountered no man by the name of Kyle Smith. Eventually, they began to get impatient.

"Steve," Jesse said heavily. "I don't think we're going to find him tonight. And standing out here giving ourselves hypothermia isn't going to accomplish anything."

The older man scowled and stared down Pacific Coast Highway one last time. "I didn't ask you to come, you know. I told Dad I'd look for this guy, and that's what I intend to do." Steve looked at his miserable friend and sighed. "But you're probably right. This is hopeless; let's go back."

When the two arrived back at the beach house, they looked no better than Edward had when he appeared. Water dripped off their entire bodies, pooling on the wood floor. Both men's hair was disheveled, and both were frustrated.

Mark, Amanda and the boy greeted them as they walked in. "Well," Amanda prompted. Edward stared at his feet.

Steve frowned in irritation. "We didn't find anybody. The whole beach is as barren as I've ever seen it!"

As he took a step forward, Edward cautiously looked up at Steve. "Excuse me, sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Daddy has a cell phone; you could try calling that."

Steve just stared. He could feel the irritation bubble up inside him, but he let it go when he noted how absolutely pathetic the kid looked. It wasn't the boy's fault that hour he had just spent in the rain was even more useless.

Mark mouthed an 'I'm sorry' at his son before explaining, "He told me just after you guys left. I already called his father, and he's on his way to pick Edward up right now." Mark felt very sheepish. Steve and possibly Jesse were never going to let him hear the end of this. He shouldn't have sent Steve out so early without letting the boy explain things first.

Steve shook his head and went down to his separate apartment on the lower floor to change. Jesse, not wanting to wear one of Steve's huge shirts, decided to brave the weather once again and went to his car to change into a spare set of clothes.

Noting Edward's obvious discomfort, Mark smiled and took him by the hand. He led the boy into the family room and motioned for him to sit on the couch. "How about a video tape?" Mark asked. Like a child, he rambled about all his favorite movies and finally chose a movie he thought his guest would enjoy.

As Mark bent over to push a_ Flintstones_ movie into the tape player, he didn't notice a slim hand reach into his pocket, squeeze his wallet, or pull out an important item.

Edward stuffed the retrieved item into his own pants and looked away from the old man as he spoke. Mark immediately noticed the sudden change in the boy's behavior but didn't know what could be wrong. "Do you not like the _Flintstones?_" he asked, scratching his head. "I could always put in a different movie."

Shrinking back into the couch, Edward vigorously shook his head. He really liked the people here, especially the old man and the woman. They made him feel special, as if he were liked without having to prove himself to be worthy. It was a feeling that not even his own father had ever given him, but his loyalties lied with his father, not his father's enemies.

Mark decided just to give the boy some space. "I'll go get us some hot chocolate," he said, effectively masking his confusion. "I'll be back in a minute; just sit tight."

He had just begun to heat up some milk when he heard pounding at the door. Mark whipped around, and the pot of milk on the stove fell to the floor with a clatter. Warm milk splashed onto the floor and onto Mark's new shoes. He gave the mess a fleeting glance and jogged to the door. "I'm coming!"

Steve was coming up the stairs and got to the door before his father. He looked out the window, saw a tall man in a long coat, and reluctantly opened the door. The man stepped in out of the rain before Steve could invite him in. He kept his eyes looking down, and his hat covered most of his face.

Steve raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. "I assume you are Kyle Smith."

Confusion washed over the man's face before he resumed a poker face. He was grateful that nobody saw his expression. "Yes," he said eventually. "I am here to pick up Edward, my... son." That last word was still bitter in his mouth.

It took several moments before Mark finally accepted the other man as being normal. Something about his voice, or his mostly obscured face, seemed vaguely familiar. The man's dark black attire and flighty, cold demeanor were even stranger than the boy's.

Turning to go get Edward, Mark was surprised to find the boy already walking towards the door. "Uh... Daddy..." he said with his head down. "I'm read to go now."

The man nodded curtly and walked back out into the rain without another word. Edward followed awkwardly, looking back once more at Mark's kind face. He would never forget these nice people.

Mark and Steve watched the two brief visitors walk away from the beach house. Neither got into a car but instead just walked into the rain. Neither Steve nor Mark could understand anything about what had just happened.

"I think he's a child abuser," Mark finally concluded. "I'm worried about that boy."

Steve nodded in agreement and closed the door. "I think I'll do a background check on a Mr. Kyle Smith."

Moments later, Jesse appeared in front of the two Sloans, his face red as a beet. "Hey Mark," he asked. "Do you think you could give me a ride back to my apartment?"

"What about your car?"

Jesse felt even smaller than he already was. "I accidentally locked my keys in my car."

Chuckling, Mark agreed. "I know what that's like," he laughed.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets and felt only his wallet. "That's strange, Mark mused. "I wonder where I left my keys..."

No more than a hundred meters away from the beach house, Edward slipped a small, metal object into the tall man's hand. The man greedily grabbed the object and clenched it in his hand. "Phase one, complete," he whispered to himself. "You'll feel my next one for sure, Sloan."

* * *

Author's Note: Comments/ constructive criticism welcome. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

An old pickup truck screeched to a halt in front of an old, green building. The tall man in the driver's seat fingered the door handle before pausing to ask, "What exactly did you do with rest of the keys?"

Edward sat in the passenger's side of the pickup truck, pressed up against the window in order to be as far away as possible from the man in the driver's seat. He swallowed hard and pulled a Mickey Mouse key chain out of his pocket. Three silver keys dangled from the cheesy Disney head.

The man clenched his jaw and, in his anger, rammed his elbow into the boy's face. Satisfied with Edward's pathetic whimper, the man restrained himself from hitting the boy again. "You idiot!" he cried. "What do you think will happen when Sloan tries to drive and realizes that his entire key chain is missing?!"

His hand holding his face, Edward tried to scoot even farther away from the man. He closed his eyes, too frightened to say anything. He knew he had horribly disappointed his father, but sheer terror at the situation overpowered any shame he felt.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you boy!" The man's arm whipped to the passenger seat, grasped a handful of Edward's shirt, and pulled the boy to his face.

Edward's eyes closed as tight as he had ever shut them. His nose shriveled at the rancid odor of the man's breath. "I didn't know which key to take. I didn't have time." Hot tears dripped down the boy's dirty face. "I'm sorry."

It was only then that the man considered the same problem. How did he know which key went to what; they were all almost identical, save for the unique ridges that would open very different doors. Sighing heavily, the man snatched the other keys and roughly pushed Edward back into his seat.

"Stay here," the man commanded. And with that he was gone, hurrying towards the green building and leaving a silently crying boy in the passenger's seat.

With his knees hugging his chest, Edward waited for the better part of an hour. Absently, he watched the raindrops quickly sliding down the window and silently willed his father to hurry. He wondered why, if his father was so mad at him for taking all the keys, he had so eagerly taken all of them.

His thoughts began to slow and the pattering rain almost lulled him to sleep. Momentarily, he forgot about the big disappointment he had caused his father. He stretched out for a moment, planning to rest for just a little while.

A door slammed, and Edward bolted up like a jack-in-the-box. He sheepishly looked to his left and, to his horror, noticed the tall man staring at him. To Edward's bewilderment, the man did not look angry at all. In fact, he smiled an eerie grin and his eyes lit up with utter joy. "I have it, boy!" he said quickly.

Surprised at his own brazenness the boy asked, "What do you have?" He half expected to receive another blow and rose his arm to protect his face just in case.

The man frowned but answered anyway. "The keys, boy! I have copies of all the keys!" His tone darkened suddenly, and he threw the Mickey Mouse key chain in Edward's lap. "Now for the next phase."

Gulping, the boy stuffed the keys into his jeans pocket. "I don't understand, Father. I thought you said this was all you wanted me to do."

As he started the car the man replied in a tone that sent chills down the boy's spine. "No, _son._ After that enormous mistake of yours, you are going to set things right." He grinned and straightened the rear view mirror.

"I'll do whatever you need Father. Please, I just don't want to disappoint you again."

"Of course not. But, you have been a very naughty boy, stealing the nice doctor's keys." The man's eyes twinkled with a strange darkness. "I simply must take you back to Sloan's house to apologize for your behavior."

The boy's eyes widened to the size of golf balls, and he felt as if he had been smacked in the face again. "Apologize?" he repeated. "But, you said I would never have to go back there again."

The man could feel his anger boiling. "Are you questioning me?!" he boomed. "You will do exactly as I say!"

Eyes downcast, the boy replied with a weak, "Yes, sir."

The truck took a few turns, and after a few minutes, zoomed down Pacific Coast Highway in the direction of Mark Sloan's beach house. The closer they got to the house, the harder the man pressed the pedal. Edward was very grateful that no cops were around; getting pulled over by the police would make his father very angry indeed.

Meanwhile, another car traveled, at a much more moderate pace, from the opposite direction down the same highway. Inside, Mark Sloan drove carefully while listening to Jesse's cheerful smalltalk. The two had just gotten back from Jesse's apartment to retrieve a spare set of car keys. Mark found it ironic that both of them had been forced to find a spare set of keys the same night. How stupid Mark had felt when he asked Steve for the other set of Mark's car keys so that he could take Jesse to get a spare set of keys of his own!

"It's funny, isn't it, Mark?" Jesse said casually. "I guess we're both getting old, huh? Becoming forgetful old geezers." He demonstrated by making a confused face and scratching his head.

Laughing at the younger man's antics Mark replied, "If you're getting old, then what does that make me?" He pouted playfully.

Scratching his head, Jesse replied with his voice his best imitation of an old man's, "I dunno. I don't remember these things anymore. What's your name again?"

Mark had been about to reply with a witty remark of his own when he saw something lying in the middle of the street. In an instant, he slammed his foot on the break pedal, and the car screeched and slipped on the wet road.

The whole car spun fast, turning and sending Mark and Jesse lurching in multiple directions. Mark kept his foot firmly on the break and gripped the steering wheel tight. After what felt like hours, the car came to a stop just a few short feet away from whatever was in the road.

Both occupants of the car had been absolutely terrified during the brief second and a half that the car had been out of control. Only when the vehicle was completely stopped did they pause to consider what the object in the road might have been.

Jesse was the first to look closely out the windshield. What he saw caused his breath to catch in his throat, and he sat transfixed and stared out at the object flooded in light by the car's headlights. Jesse took time to whisper gravely, "Mark, I think we hit someone," before he was out of the car and running.

The older doctor, not even completely registering the implications of Jesse's statement, followed suit. He flung the car door open, scrambled out, and bolted for the person he had hit with the car. He was prepared for the worst, ready to call 911, perform CPR, or assist Jesse in any other emergency treatment.

Neither he nor Jesse were prepared, however, for what they did see. The two stopped dead in their tracks before they reached the person in the road. All the medical knowledge in the world wouldn't help them with what they now faced. There was no severely injured person lying in the middle of the road. There was no blood spattered on the car and pooling on the ground.

Instead, a boy sat in the middle of the road, hugging his knees and bawling like a baby; the car had not even touched him. Relief washed over the two doctors before another alarming revelation occurred to them. This boy looked almost exactly like the boy they had meet only hours previously. It was the little boy Edward with an abusive father.

Jesse, thoroughly confused, strode forward to assess the situation. The boy had a really nasty black eye, but apart from that and obvious fear, seemed perfectly fine. Not knowing what else to do, he tried to comfort the child, to ask his what was wrong and why he was in the street. Jesse normally felt very comfortable with kids, but something about this boy made him feel so awkward.

The young doctor was thus thoroughly relieved when Mark stepped past him to help. Mark, as confused as Jesse, tried to goad the boy into responding to telling them what was wrong, but the boy wouldn't stop crying nor would he explain anything.

"What happened?" Mark asked carefully, shielding himself from the rain.

"Did your father do something bad to you?" he tried again. "Did he give you that black eye?"

Receiving no response, Mark and Jesse declared defeat. They decided to take him back to the beach house where they could talk to him in a less frightening, not to mention dangerous, environment. It wasn't the best idea to try and talk during a storm, in the middle of a highway.

This decision made, and after Jesse had placed Edward in the back seat of the car, the two then noticed how extraordinarily close they were to the house, just a few houses down the street. Even so, Mark drove them the very short distance to his house and up the driveway.

Mark urged the boy, who had stopped crying almost the instant after he got into the car, into the beach house. The boy was reluctant to go at first. He knew his father's commands, but he didn't want these nice people to see him as a common thief, to yell at him and curse him and send him to jail. He didn't want to make these people mad at him, the first people who had ever been truly kind to him.

On the other hand, he could not afford to disappoint his father again. He had been ordered to do something, and he had to carry through with it even though he couldn't stand it.

He stood on the little path that led to the house for several moments, battling with his thoughts. Eventually, his loyalty to his father gave in and he walked through the door to Mark Sloan's house like a prisoner to the gallows.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The boy's blatantly obvious fear perplexed Mark and his younger friend. Was Edward afraid that his father would be angry with the boy for going into this house? Was he afraid that Mark or Jesse would turn him in to his father? Shrugging their thoughts off, the two followed the boy into the house.

Taking a deep breath, Edward prepared to give the apology speech he had thought up and leave quickly. Just as he was about to speak, his gaze locked with that of Amanda's. Seeing the lovely woman brought a fresh wave of tears to the boy's eyes, and he began sobbing uncontrollably. Now even this nice woman would hate him, see him as a horrible monster and criminal.

Amanda stood staring in shock until the boy began to cry. She flung down the coat she had been carrying, ran to the child, and threw her arms around him. After the boy had left, she had spent the past couple of hours feeling guilty about letting Edward go home with his most-likely abusive father. Seeing the boy again, she was grateful but very concerned. The boy reminded her so much of her adopted son, Dion.

"Shh," Amanda cooed. "It's alright. Don't worry." She gently steered him to the couch in the family room. The boy complied, but Amanda's affectionate words only fueled his grief.

Standing in the doorway awkwardly, Mark and Jesse watched as Amanda seemed to so capably handle the enigmatic child. After a couple of moments, the two men removed their coats and shoes and followed Amanda into the family room.

"Please, honey. Just tell me what's wrong," Amanda pleaded as she sat on the sofa next to the boy. "Are you afraid of your father? I promise I'll help you. I'll protect you."

Wiping his face on his sleeve, Edward sobered up a little and replied, "It's not that; if I tell you, you'll all hate me."

Amanda looked at the boy incredulously. How similar this moment was to the time when Dion had lost his disposable camera and had been afraid of being punished. This time, however, Amanda was certain that the problem wasn't so trivial. "I could never hate you," she said with gentle conviction.

Sucking in a calming breath, Edward steeled himself. He had already screwed up once, and his father had generously given him a second chance. As much as he loathed himself for it, he pushed aside his roller coaster of emotions and proceeded with the plan.

Hand shaking, he pulled out Mark's key chain and held it out in front of him. Edward kept his head low, his voice defeated and soft. "I stole them. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" It was all he could do to keep himself from crying again.

The three adults in the room were stunned into silence. Mark was the first to recover. He stepped forward and gingerly took the keys from the boy's hand. In a desperate attempt to lighten the mood he said, "Well, that was certainly something unexpected."

Edward's lip quivered. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "Do what you want with me; call the police. I'm sorry!"

Mark's gaze softened and he knelt in front of the boy. "Now why would I do something like that?" He forced a chuckle to make the boy feel better. "I should thank you for returning these. Now I won't have to use Steve's spare set of keys to drive!"

"You mean you're not mad at me?"

"Edward," Amanda said suddenly, effectively changing the subject. "Did your father hurt you because you took those keys? Did he make you come back to return them?"

Silently, the boy nodded with his head still down. He couldn't bring himself to look Amanda in the eye.

"Amanda," Mark said quickly. "Can I speak to you for a second?" He motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen.

Jesse almost followed them before realizing that he couldn't just leave the boy alone. Once again noting Edward's black eye, he changed his mind and politely excused himself to leave for a moment.

Mark gave Jesse a reproachful glance when he saw the young man enter the kitchen. "What about Edward? Someone needs to stay with him."

"I know," Jesse responded, walking to the freezer and rooting around for something. "But he needs some ice for that black eye." Finding a bag of frozen peas, Jesse closed the freezer and wrapped the bag in a towel. "So, what do you think?"

Sighing, Mark replied, "I don't know what to think. Something just isn't right here, but I can't put my finger on what it is."

Jesse raised his eyebrows. "You mean besides the fact that some strange boy with an even stranger father shows up on your doorstep and steals your keys. Your keys! What on earth would a kid want with a bunch of keys, anyway? Why not go for your wallet?"

"That's it Jesse!" Mark's eyes lit up and his mind went into overdrive. "That's the strange part. Why didn't he steal my wallet? What could he possibly gain by stealing my keys?"

He walked quickly to the stairs leading to the lowest level of the house, calling over his shoulder, "I'll get Steve. Amanda, why don't you fix Edward something to eat. Jesse, make sure he's alright, OK?"

With that, Amanda hurriedly went to the stove and Jesse, remembering what he originally had intended to come into the kitchen for, took the bag of frozen vegetables into the family room. Jesse cocked his head in confusion when Edward, who had just seen Jesse, ran from somewhere in the family room to the couch. The boy looked as if he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The young doctor ignored this and slowly approached the boy who seemed to try to shrink back deep into the couch cushion. "Here." Jesse handed the boy the frozen bag.

Seeing the name _Green Giant_ and the pictures of peas, Edward stared at Jesse like he was insane. In response, Jesse wrapped the towel over the front of the bag and held it out again. "For your eye," Jesse explained quickly. "It will make the swelling go down."

Still confused, the boy took the bag and held it up to his eye. It stung horribly, but he left it there. Even if it did make him look like an idiot to wear a bag of peas like an eye patch, the boy wasn't going to do anything else to make these people mad.

It was great enough that they didn't seem to be too upset about the keys. All rationale told Edward to get out of the house as quickly as possible, but for some reason he found himself unable to leave. What would happen if he stayed? Surely it wouldn't hurt the plan to stay with these people just a little while longer.

A long silence followed between Jesse and the boy. Feeling very uncomfortable, Jesse sat on the couch next to Edward, but he couldn't think of a single intelligent thing to say. He heard a rustling in the kitchen and then remembered what Amanda was doing. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Amanda's making you something to eat."

At first, the boy was disinterested, but then his head perked up. "Amanda? She is?" he asked.

"Yes, and let me tell you that her cooking is the best in the world!"

"Really?" the boy asked hopefully. In truth, he was starving; he couldn't remember the last time he had anything decent to eat.

And thus, Edward made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. He became hopeful, content, at peace. It was only then that he saw a very familiar figure staring at him through the window of the beach house. And there Edward was, sitting on the couch, talking pleasantly with Jesse, and holding a bag of vegetables over his bruised eye.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Mark Sloan sat at the table in Community General's Doctors' Lounge, nursing a cup of coffee. Ruminating over the events of the previous day, Mark was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice as Jesse entered the lounge and sat in the empty chair beside him.

"Mark?" Jesse asked cautiously, causing Mark to snap his head in the young doctor's direction. "Are you still thinking about that boy?"

Nodding, Mark sighed and massaged his temples. He was still completely and utterly confused about the whole situation. Simple logic told him that the strange boy was none of his business and that the two would never meet again. The fatherly instincts in Mark, however, screamed to find and protect the boy from, what he was convinced, a very abusive and dangerous situation. The only strange thing was that the boy didn't completely fit into the normal profile of an abused child; he was simply too strange.

"It's so odd," the older doctor said suddenly, and his eyes flashed with sudden emotion. "First, for no apparent reason, he stole my keys. Then he returned them not an hour later, sporting a black eye."

"Only to freeze up like a deer and bolt from the house after apologizing," Jesse added with slight irritation. "I don't get it either! He seemed so comfortable with us on minute, and the next he's running out the door!"

Jesse's frustration stemmed from worry and the fact that he knew so little about the situation. In truth, the young child reminded Jesse a little of himself as a boy- the insecurity, the shyness, the longing for attention. But Jesse was equally sure that something was off. The boy might not be as honest and innocent as he let on.

"We don't know anything right now, Mark, but all I can say is that I really don't want to have any more dealings with that boy or his father. I don't think we should get involved with their affairs- for everyone's sake." The two men shared a deep gaze.

Mark took a deep breath. "There's something else," he said heavily. "Last night, I noticed that one of my credit cards is missing- along with some cash and Amanda's diamond necklace."

The younger man let out a low whistle and shook his head sadly. It seemed that the boy was a thief after all, which may have been why he ran from the beach house so quickly after returning. "Have you told Steve?"

Mark shook his head. "I know it may look like the kid's just a petty robber, but I don't think he's merely putting on an act. There's something bigger at play with him, and I haven't a clue what."

The shrill beeping of Jesse's pager interrupted the discussion. Silencing the device, the young doctor rose form his seat and headed for the door. "You're right," he said to Mark as he left, "and I for one don't want to know what it is."

Mark decided to shrug off his doubts and concerns about the boy. Jesse was probably right; it would be bad for everyone to pry into this kind of situation. And Mark definitely didn't want any police action against the boy. The items stolen could be replaced, and a confrontation from Mark could lead to another beating for the boy- even a fatal beating, as Mark had learned from past experiences with abused children.

Deciding not to pursue the situation any longer, Mark continued his day without any more stress. By his second patient of the day, he had nearly completely put the little boy out of his mind. By the end of the day, he barely even remembered the conversation he had earlier with Jesse.

For the next week, life continued normally for the Sloans and their friends. Nothing else had been stolen, and nobody had heard anything more about the thief. It had taken quite a bit of convincing for Steve to agree not to pursue the boy as a criminal, but Mark had carefully planned out a solid argument and was so adamant that Steve had to concede.

Mark had practically forgotten about the whole incident when bizarre things began to occur at the beach house. At first, these events seemed insignificant. Mark would come home to find a door open or unlocked that he could have sworn he had checked earlier. He was only a bit puzzled and just assumed that Steve or himself had left the doors open by mistake.

Later, he found even stranger things- a broken doorknob, a hose uncoiled, a large rock moved from one side of the front yard to the other. Mark never noticed anything that seemed terribly wrong or out of place, just little things that most people wouldn't even think about. He told relatively little of the odd events to Steve or even to Amanda and Jesse, but a nagging feeling loomed in the back of his mind.

About two weeks after his meeting with Edward, Mark arrived home to a very big shock. Holding two large bags of groceries he arrived at his front door to find it unlocked and his house ransacked. Books, decorative ornaments, couch cushions, and other miscellaneous items littered the floor. The coffee table was overturned, and everything was a mess.

Mark dropped his bags and rushed inside. As he did so, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Steve's number. Mark waited for what felt like ages, but Steve didn't pick up and in the end all Mark could do was leave a message. Instead of calling 911 or staying out of the crime scene, as Steve would most certainly advise, Mark went forth to survey the damage.

His house was picked apart, but it didn't seem that anything of particular value had been stolen. Upon further inspection, Mark discovered that his safe was untouched and no money or valuables had been taken. As Mark passed by the kitchen counter he noticed a piece of paper that made his blood run cold.

It was a note with a picture attached to it. As Mark looked at the face in the picture, it felt as if his heart had just stopped beating. "No," he breathed, reaching out to pick up the paper.

The face belonged to none other than Edward, the little boy that Mark had tried to block out of his mind. The boy in the picture held a black revolver in his right hand and seemed to be pointing it right at whoever was reading the attached note. The boy's eyes were cold and gray, so unlike the vibrant and scared eyes Mark had seen just weeks earlier.

Mark turned his attention from the picture to the note. As his eyes scanned the words, his heart sank to his ankles. 'Never trust a thief.'

"Why?" the doctor breathed. "Why would someone do this?"

What Mark didn't see was the pair of eyes watching from the beach house's back window. A man sat perched on Mark's deck, peering in and grinning fiendishly as the doctor studied the note. He smacked his lips cockily, thoroughly satisfied with himself, then turned and walked slowly towards the beach. "My second step is complete," he whispered to himself. "Let the fear eat away at you, Doctor Sloan."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Upon receiving his father's urgent message, Steve Sloan raced to the beach house as fast as humanly possible with the help of a siren and some pretty fearless driving. Unsure as to the entire situation because of Mark's very brief message, he had hastily called for backup and urgently sped home. He didn't know for sure whether or not his father was hurt, but Mark wasn't answering the home or cell phone and Steve wasn't about to take any chances.

When Steve finally arrived at the beach house, he was overwhelmed with relief that his father was fine. After learning of Mark's 'investigation' of the house, however, the detective could barely restrain his anger.

"You mean to tell me that you just waltzed right in there, even when you knew the criminal could still be in the house?!" Steve demanded. He rubbed his forehead and glared accusingly at his father.

"Steve-" Mark opened his mouth to defend himself but was cut off by his son who immediately snapped.

"You could have been hurt! You could have been killed!" Steve began to pace nervously in front of the house.

"Steve, I knew what I was doing." The doctor spoke with confidence even though he knew that the phrase was only partly true. "There was no way a thief would want to stick around long enough to hurt me."

The detective abruptly stopped walking in circles and faced his father. His jaw line was sharp with concern and anger. "Of course the thief didn't want to hurt you," he said sarcastically, "that's why he left you that lovely picture of himself holding a gun."

Mark sighed. He knew that Steve was just concerned, as he had a right to be, but it wasn't as if Mark had been in any real danger. If the situation had been reversed, and Steve had done something reckless that endangered his health or safety, Mark would have lectured his son to high heaven.

It didn't take long for Steve to realize that expostulating was getting him nowhere. He quickly admitted defeat and let out a slow, calming breath. "So, are you done 'investigating' yet?"

The doctor flashed his son a grateful smile for the change in subject. "Actually, I'd like to poke around a bit more before the police do anything. I've already checked out most of the inside, but I want to search the basement and outside as well."

The two went from room to room, making sure nothing was missing. They found nothing unusual except that things were shaken up or thrown on the floor. Nothing extraordinary was in the basement, and Mark and Steve had almost given up hope of finding clues until they reached the deck.

At first glance, nothing on the deck seemed abnormal, but Mark's keen eyesight found a few faint smudges on one of the house's windows. They were made by the side of someone's face and perhaps a hand.

"Steve, over here!" Mark motioned to the window, and Steve jogged over.

The detective carefully studied the smudges before shaking his head. "I don't think we can get any fingerprints off of that; it's too smeared."

"But look! This cheek marks looks too large to have been made by a little boy- and so is the hand print. Edward may well be innocent," the doctor concluded.

"That could very well be wishful thinking, Dad. How do you think that kind of evidence would stand up in court, especially with the picture we found and the fact that the boy stole your keys before." Steve screwed up his face and spoke in a high-pitched voice. "'The cheek print found at the scene of the crime was too large, Sir. Edward is innocent.'"

Mark scowled in response and continued searching for clues.

Three hours later, the police had made their report and long since left Mark and Steve to clean up the mess. Steve had tried to convince Mark to stay at a hotel for the night, but there was really no investigation for the police to pursue and the only real motive behind this was safety. Mark had blatantly refused, saying that as long as the locks were changed and a uniform was keeping an eye on the beach house, there was nothing to worry about.

That night, Mark didn't get much sleep. Theories and contemplations of the boy and the ransacking flooded his head every time he closed his eyes. His mind was in overdrive, trying to piece together everything that had happened and to find a solution to the mystery behind the events.

Steve's night wasn't any easier. Every little creak or thump as the house settled would cause him to jolt awake and subconsciously reach for his gun. He tried not to envision the culprit behind the threat coming back and hurting Mark, but all he could think about was his father getting hurt.

The next morning, the Sloans, Amanda, and Jesse convened in the Doctors' Lounge. The four sat around the table munching on bagels with the door to the room securely shut.

"You mean your place got trashed last night?" Jesse asked incredulously through a mouth full of food.

Mark nodded and slid Jesse the note and picture. "Right now we don't know exactly who's behind this or for what reason."

"We have reason to suspect that Edward is working for the mob or some form of organized crime," Steve stated bluntly, earning a surprised look from all three doctors.

Amanda was appalled at this statement. She had really bonded with the boy during their short encounter, but she didn't believe there was any way he would be involved in something so heinous. The kid really seemed sweet and completely innocent of any crime. "Steve, I don't think Edward is a criminal. He really seemed sincere to me, and I think he needs help-not to be prosecuted."

Sighing, Steve rested his elbows on the table and set his bagel down. "Guys, I agree that this whole thing isn't all the kid's doing, but I find it pretty hard to believe that he's innocent altogether."

Jesse looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, that kid was pretty strange. It was almost as if-" He paused, trying to think of the right phrase to describe it.

"Go on," the detective prompted, trying not to sound to impatient.

"It was almost as if he was being blackmailed or something. Oh, I know!" Jesse smiled conspiratorially. "Maybe the mob has some dirt on him and they're forcing him to work as long as they want or maybe the kid's a secret Russian spy who-"

Something clicked in Mark's head, and his eyes lit up like flashlights. "That's it, Jesse!" he declared.

The detective gaped at his father as if Mark had just come to the conclusion that apes from Mars were responsible for the break-in at the beach house. "Dad, you actually believe that the boy is a secret Russian spy?!"

Chuckling, Mark responded, "No, of course not. But Jesse did have a good point. Edward was indeed acting like someone who is being blackmailed, manipulated maybe."

Jesse pouted. "What was wrong with my spy theory?" he demanded. "I was only just starting to explain it to you, but you reject it before you even know the details!"

Amanda raised her eyebrows at Jesse good-naturedly before suddenly remembering something else. "Steve," she said abruptly, "you haven't found anything else on the name 'Kyle Smith', have you."

"No. The name's not registered to anyone meeting the right age range in southern California. Now, considering the circumstances, I have to assume that the name's an alias and that 'Kyle Smith' is also part of the mob." Steve suddenly glanced at his watch. "Just perfect! I have to be at work in ten minutes. See you later, guys."

The three doctors called out their goodbyes as Steve practically raced out the door. With Steve's exit, the rest of the group broke apart. Amanda excused herself to the pathology lab to finish an autopsy on a drunk driver. Jesse grabbed another bagel and headed off the the Emergency Room, and Mark decided to get an early start on his rounds.

Even as everyone went their separate ways and about their won jobs, they were all a little frightened by the threat and the thought of the little boy pointing a gun at someone.

As days dragged on with no action, tensions among the friends became high. They were all on edge, worried that something was going to happen and frustrated at the prospect of having to wait. The police had absolutely no leads and basically considered the threat to be insignificant.

During this time, a man kept close watch on the beach house from far away. He sat disguised as a tourist with binoculars watching pretty girls in bikinis. When nobody was looking, he would turn his binoculars towards the beach house to get a good look in Mark Sloan's windows. He smiled to himself and took a swig of beer. "Almost time for step three," he croaked.


End file.
